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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975321">Bright Squares on the Bedroom Floor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter'>prettyboyporter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harringrove ficlets [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, flangst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:33:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d done this countless times with the position switched – Billy on Steve’s shoulder, shouting, crying, releasing words of anger and sadness. Billy’d come a long way in the last five months since his return and Steve was there with Billy through it all, in the trenches with Billy’s anger, grief, sadness. </p><p>Under the harsh lights, Billy clutched Steve tight and Steve held him close – took deep, steadying breaths. Billy walked them back against the lockers and the pressure against his back and Billy’s body against his chest back felt <i>good</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harringrove ficlets [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222898</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bright Squares on the Bedroom Floor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fluorescent lights in Family Video’s break room were hard on Steve’s eyes. </p><p>He wiped furiously at the tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming. Sometimes it snuck up, like one snowflake becoming two, then a pile, then a hill, then an avalanche. </p><p>He’d thought of Barb when he reshelved a copy of <i>Xanadu</i> and suddenly he heard Nancy’s voice in his head from two years ago saying, <i>c’mon Steve, it’s Barb’s favorite movie</i>, before he kissed her forehead and said <i>okay</i> and took them both to the Hawk to see it on a second-run Saturday special. </p><p>He’d thought of Bob Newby. He didn’t know Bob well but the guy once helped Steve figure out how to fix his father’s stereo when Steve accidentally fucked it up and he couldn’t bear the thought of his dad finding out and all of the anxiety of hearing the eight thousandth speech about disappointment and higher expecations that made him feel smaller and smaller and less like a real human being every day, so he panicked, asked the first person he thought of who knew anything at all about technology. Two hours later there was Bob in his dad’s study saying, <i>There, see? No harm no foul. Easy peasy.</i> with the world’s warmest smile. </p><p>He’d thought of Benny Hammond. Steve remembered stumbling into Benny’s Burgers drunk after a party when the sign already said Closed but Benny still put down a basket with a burger and fries in it in front of Steve – wouldn’t take Steve’s money, just said <i>eat, then I’ll drive you home</i>. </p><p>Steve slipped quietly into the back room as he felt the tears streak from his eyes – before Robin could see them fall. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and pressed back on his tears – fucking wish that he could have the same the absence in his heart that his parents had. That he could take his emotions off like shoes at the door, walk around with no Barb, no Bob, no Benny crowding his thoughts. </p><p>The back door opened and closed with a click. Steve turned quickly to face a locker and fidget with the dial. “Sorry Robin,” he said, and fuck his voice was too thick, she’d be able to tell. “Sorry I just – thought I forgot my wallet at home. Panicked and checked my locker.” </p><p>“Hey,” Billy Hargrove’s voice came from behind, and his hand cupped Steve’s shoulder. He smelled of cigarettes – Steve didn’t need to turn around to know he was wearing a black hoodie, hood up. “Cmon. You don’t have to make shit up. It’s me.” </p><p>Steve turned and immediately clutched Billy close – didn’t let Billy see the tears but still buried his face into Billy’s curls and let it all come out. Billy’s hands shifted up under Steve’s vest, clutching the fabric of his polo. Steve’s back shook with sobs that he tried, <i>tried</i> to control. </p><p>They’d done this countless times with the position switched – Billy on Steve’s shoulder, shouting, crying, releasing words of anger and sadness. Billy’d come a long way in the last five months since his return and Steve was there with Billy through it all, in the trenches with Billy’s anger, grief, sadness. </p><p>Under the harsh lights, Billy clutched Steve tight and Steve held him close – took deep, steadying breaths. Billy walked them back against the lockers and the pressure against his back and Billy’s body against his chest back felt good. </p><p>Billy pulled back and looked into Steve’s eyes in invitation. </p><p>Steve inhaled deeply – exhaled slowly. “It’s.” Billy touched Steve’s cheek. “It’s a lot. Sometimes.” </p><p>Billy nodded and leaned in. They’d come close to doing this so many times over the last few months, a breath away, more often than not interrupted, but not today, not right now when Billy leaned forward and closed the gap between them – took the kiss that Steve gave back. </p><p>Relief – Steve felt instant relief as Billy kissed him over and over, pressed him back harder against the lockers. “You’re so good, Steve,” he pulled back long enough to say. “So good.” And kissed Steve again, Steve’s hands knocking back the hood, up into the curls as Billy touched his tongue to Steve’s lips, before a few gentle knocks came at the door and they froze.</p><p>“Hey dingus? Uhm. Sorry but – I kind of need you up front.” </p><p>Steve took Billy’s chin between his fingers – rasp of stubble there – and kissed Billy three more times before he broke apart. “Come over at seven?” </p><p>Billy grinned a sly little grin. He knew how to shimmy up the side of Steve’s house and slide in his window – had done it enough times when nightmares spooked him out of his house on Cherry Lane. “See you then.” </p><p>Steve helped Robin with the queue of people then shared hushed words with her in a darkened store, secrets they could only share with a select few, and went home with a hug and friendship in his heart. </p><p>The next morning he thought with all of the heartaches, all of the loss and monsters and difficult emotions, he could face them – as long as he could continue waking up with Billy in his arms, wake up with the sun throwing bright squares on the bedroom floor with Billy’s soft kisses and curls tickling his cheek.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>prettyboyporter on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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